TROOPS

In his experience, many of the world’s greatest discoveries were made by men who would be considered mad by conventional standards.

Fuck 'Em

I got drowsy on the train and missed my stop. I got out at 15th Street, by the park. A fat guy sat on a bench, talking on his phone. As I approached I knew I’d overhear something great. Here’s what it was:

“They didn't much like Michael bringing the pizza in. But fuck ‘em. Who cares. Fuck ‘em.”

There was a guy on the platform this morning, zigzagging close to the edge, babbling. I was lost in thought until I realized he was coming my way. I backed away and hid behind a beam, a little worried that he’d be offended and lash out. We got into the same car and he sprawled out on the bench across from me, chanting and moaning to no one and nothing. He had a belt in his hand and began whapping the buckle against the back of the seats. It made a hell of a racket. He seemed pleased by it, like a baby banging on the bars of his crib. Others in the car peered over their books and tablets at him for a moment, then didn’t give it another thought. “It’s too damn early for this,” said a woman across from me to the right. We caught each other’s eyes and smiled just a little bit.

Sometimes when the computer gets stuck, you get that spinning wheel or whatever the case may be, it feels like time itself enters a strange, inhuman realm. Something that once took a tiny fraction of a section, directed by humans in programming language, facilitated by unimaginable processing power, now takes, potentially, any arbitrary length of time. Could be 25 seconds. Could be three days. Could be 5,618 years. The machine doesn’t care. It’s just going to do what it’s supposed to do. We constrain machines with our imperfect, wishful thinking. But they don’t give a damn.

I'm OK!

About a week ago on the subway steps I was in the crowd going down past the one going up. Two men passed by and the first one stumbled on a step, falling back a bit onto the second one, who helped keep him up. “I’m OK! I’m OK!” he said. Angrily. Like: I don’t want your help. It fills me with rage that you had to touch me, hold me like that. I can’t stand that I just needed you right now.

There were flashing lights down on the street tonight, an ambulance. Voices in the hallway. Unintelligible. The voices of two disparate neighbors, I thought—from 1 and 3. Outside the driver walked back to the door, unrushed. But I guess that's how they always are.

Drivers are worse and worse these days, weaving back and forth across the lines as they text or tap their apps or God knows what. When I see a car like that I hold my breath and pass it, to put the impending calamities behind us.

Feel tired and a little nauseous now, after three days of weird eating and drinking, of too much at once, then not enough for too long, then too much again. And all of it under this cloud of grief, this funeral that doesn’t end.

But there is always something to look forward to: the empty page, another day, and death.

Ten Years Ago

I walked down the ramp to the platform at West 4th. One of the crazy musicians was there, not the Rasta who plays the same wuffly-shuffly chords forever, or the guy with the keyboard, but the white guy with the acoustic guitar, a sort of Hemingway-looking guy, but demented too, just not right at all. It seemed he always ranted more than he played, and this time he was right in the middle of one. His gibberish was notable for being articulate and clear. Often, street crazies make so little sense that you can barely distinguish one word from the next. Like stars, the more you focus, the more they fade away. But this guy, you knew what he was saying, and you knew it was pure insanity, and that made it scarier, really. Here's what he said, leaning over his guitar, the moment I walked by:

“She died or disappeared or whatever she did ten years ago.”

TROOPS

She wore a big, brown barrette, and when she turned her head I caught a glimpse of a small, white ear.

TROOPS

And there were other things in those photographs that he didn't like, either.

TROOPS

and he felt a kind of panic bloom in his heart.

When Black Friday Comes

Overheard on Seventh Avenue in Brooklyn, a woman tells her man: “On Black Friday I want to get you that TV.”

TROOPS

Macro crises get disaggregated into localised events

TROOPS

“Is that so? Too bad. Anyway, Helen —Mrs. Wilcox—says that Mrs. Patterson visited regular as clockwork,

TROOPS

The stars had all been stifled by the spreading ink of the clouds.

TROOPS

After these visits I would return to the unit, with its faux-homey look, in a black mood.

Every time I peel potatoes I think about the Holocaust. In the comfort of my well-appointed kitchen. Why is that? Is it some movie, “Sophie’s Choice” or “Schindler’s List”? Is there a potato-peeling scene in one of them? In both? Of an attractive Jewess who’s been adopted by the sadistic camp commander and who, in the midst of horror, has the chance to peel and fuck her way to survival? Such a European food, potatoes. So plain and dumb and useful. Boil ‘em, mash ‘em, fry ‘em. The food of kings and pawns and Nazis. I think I also read that the peels were desperately coveted by starving prisoners. Forced to grovel for scraps, like dogs. I think about them with each flick of my wrist.

TROOPS

—Your sister lives in a big house outside town

Come Fellowship With Us

Brothers, sisters, join us in the light. Our hearts are open. Our doors are open. Thursday’s potluck begins at six o’clock, well, five-thirty if you have something for the steam trays. You can use the side entrance and head straight to the kitchen. Linda will be there. She’ll tell you what to do. As usual.

We’ll need volunteers to help with the folding tables and chairs.

Come fellowship with us.

Brian just came back from Togo and he’ll put on a little presentation about the children he saw, the wretchedness. Your contributions go a long way toward bringing the eternal light of the Redeemer to the darkest places in Creation. They buy mosquito nets. Lentils.

There’s a sing-along every night at eight. Join hands with us in fellowship in the light and love of the Lord.

I understand our Couples Perseverance Circle is becoming quite popular. Tuesdays at seven. What? What’s that Linda? Oh, seven-thirty. OK. You don’t have to— You don’t have to corr— Now come on. You don’t have to correct me in that tone. No, no, no. I know. Seven-thirty, not seven. I know we wouldn’t want our brothers and sisters to be misin— Now come on, now. It’s just your tone, Linda. Please don’t correct me in that tone of voice.

Come in the spirit of fellowship and lay your burden down. Why just last week the Robertsons shared something quite remarkable with the group. I don’t think I’m speaking out of school when I declare that they have reaffirmed their commitment to each other in Christ. Remember some of the interesting scripture they quoted? May all your pain be pleasure; may your bondage set you free. I was intrigued by that. It’s been a long road, and yea the road be curvy. It’s a tall mountain, and verily it be steep. But anywhere a man plants his flag be his... home? Something like that. Can I get an amen? What was it, 1 Corinthians? Not sure about chapter and verse. What Linda? What now? Galatians? Linda thinks it’s Galatians. I’m not so sure, but— Honey? Honey, please don’t interrupt me during the writing of the newsletter, it’s one of the few goddamned moments of peace I get in this—

Forgive me.

Not you Linda, them. Forgive me, dear brothers and sisters in Jesus. No— Uh— What?

OK, of course, of course. You too. You too may forgive me, dear.

I’ve asked Terri and Sam to do a show-and-tell for us next time, anyway. Of some of the blessed objects they described. That have brought them so much light and joy in Christ.

Let’s see, let’s see, let’s see. Who’s ready to get their gambling on? Ha ha ha, I like to use vernacular. Our monthly casino night is coming up on the 12th. You won’t believe your eyes as we transform our cherished house of worship into a veritable temple of sin. Blackjack, roulette, you name it. Pai gow poker. The various games of chance. Try your luck, partner! Just for one night, though. At 10 pm sharp we tear everything down and revert back to a modest sanctuary for those seeking the succor of faith. Again, if anyone could stay a little late to help with the chairs and the tables. Those tables, they’re a two-man job. I really threw out my back last m— That’s right, I did! What do you mean, I’m a— Linda, that’s disrespectful. It’s very disrespectful. I did overwork my lumbar. I told you— No, I did. I DID. That’s not true. I need them. I need those for my back, Linda. No, that’s beside the point. THAT’S BESIDE THE POINT. There’s no law against it, Linda. No law. No law of earth or heaven. There’s no goddamn law says I can’t have a glass of bourbon with my percocet. I know, I know, but— He’s one to talk. That’s right. He’s one to talk. Dr. Allen is an old pervert, Linda. People have been saying it for years! For YEARS. You said it! You said it! You didn’t seem to be joking at the time. I’m just saying, you trust a sexual predator, you give ME grief? What do you mean, that’s got nothing to do with his medical opinion? In my fucking medical opinion, he should not have pressed his penis into that girl’s face while she was under sedation. MY OPINION. Sue me. Sue me if that seems, I don’t know, controversial. A rumor? Every single member of our congregation couldn’t stop talking about it for a month. These are good people, Linda. People of faith. People of the Lord. For your information, I’m going to give thoughtful consideration to their fucking opinions of Dr. Allen. That’s right. FYI. You goddamn right I’m going to, it’s a free fucking country. “Potentiate the medications.” It’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane in our marriage, Linda. God help me. It’s the only thing that’s keeping me sane in this goddamned slog that we call life together. Help me Jesus Christ.

So if any of you could devote a few minutes to moving back the tables. And the chairs.

As I conclude this edition of the Fellowship Newsletter, I wish you all peace and blessings in Jesus. May you see nothing but love and holiness in each other and yourselves. May you never strain for the fruit of the tree, nor the light of the s—

OK, OK. OK Linda. I’ll be there in a minute.

Come fellowship with us.

TROOPS

She didn't know how to answer that question. She didn't want to.